Tag Archives: romance

दिखाई दिए यूँ – with just a glimpse

फकीराना आये सदा कर चले,
मियाँ खुश रहो हम दुआ कर चले

जो तुझ बिन जीने को कहते थे हम,
सो इस अह्द को अब वफ़ा कर चले

कोई ना-उम्मीदाना करते निगाह,
सो तुम हम से भी मुंह छिपा कर चले

बहुत आरजू थी गली की तेरी,
सो यहाँ से लहू में नहा कर चले

दिखाई दिए यूँ के बेखुद किया,
हमें आप से भी जुदा कर चले

जबीं सिजदा करते ही करते गयी,
हक-ऐ-बंदगी हम अदा कर चले

परस्तश की यान taeen ke ai but तुझे, (issues with devnagri)
नज़र में शबों की खुदा कर चले

-मीर तकी मीर (खुदा-ऐ-सुखन)

An english translation of the same

Mendicant like i came and part,
Praying that you be blessed

Without you i will not live,
Behold, this pledge i now redeem

An unhopeful glance i could have cast,
But you hid your face walking me past

To visit your street, i deeply wished,
I leave it bathed in blood

with just a glimpse, you left me entranced,
estranged from self, i have been since

A long obeisance was my life,
My debt of homage i have paid

I adored you,love, so deep and true,
That people took you for god

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बस इक लम्हे का झगड़ा था


बस इक लम्हे का झगड़ा था –
दरो-दीवार पे ऐसे छनाके से गिरी आवाज़ जैसे काँच गिरता है –
हर इक शै में गयीं उडती हुई, जलती हुई किरचें!
नज़र में, बात में, लहजे में, सोच और साँस के अन्दर |
लहू होना था इक रिश्ते का, सो वह हो गया उस दिन
उसी आवाज़ के टुकड़े उठा के फ़र्श से उस शब,
किसी ने काट ली नब्ज़ें – 
न की आवाज़ तक कुछ भी,

कि कोई जाग न जाये


An English Translation

A mere one-moment tiff –
And the voice crashed on the walls like a glass shatters –
The splinters, stinging, flew into everything
In our eyes, in our conversation and its tone, in our thoughts and breaths even |
A relation was to be murdered, and that happened eventually –

Using a fragment of that very voice, that night,
Someone slit their veins –
Not making the slightest noise,
Lest someone wakes up


The same was recited by Dia Mirza for “Dus Kahaniyaan(2007)” album.

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the indian to his love

W.B. Yeats (1865-1939)

The island dreams under the dawn
And great boughs drop tranquillity;
The peahens dance on a smooth lawn,
A parrot sways upon a tree,
Raging at his own image in the enamelled sea.

Here we will moor our lonely ship
And wander ever with woven hands,
Murmuring softly lip to lip,
Along the grass, along the sands,
Murmuring how far away are the unquiet lands:

How we alone of mortals are
Hid under quiet boughs apart,
While our love grows an Indian star,
A meteor of the burning heart,
One with the tide that gleams, the wings that gleam and dart,

The heavy boughs, the burnished dove
That moans and sighs a hundred days:
How when we die our shades will rove,
When eve has hushed the feathered ways,
With vapoury footsole by the water’s drowsy blaze.

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Elizabeth Bishop
Buy Books By Elizabeth Bishop Poems

I am in need of music that would flow
Over my fretful, feeling finger-tips,
Over my bitter-tainted, trembling lips,
With melody, deep, clear, and liquid-slow.
Oh, for the healing swaying, old and low,
Of some song sung to rest the tired dead,
A song to fall like water on my head,
And over quivering limbs, dream flushed to glow!

There is a magic made by melody:
A spell of rest, and quiet breath, and cool
Heart, that sinks through fading colors deep
To the subaqueous stillness of the sea,
And floats forever in a moon-green pool,
Held in the arms of rhythm and of sleep.

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Riding the Red Line

Eric Nixon
Buy Book – Anything but Dreams: Selected Poems

On the subway
On a hot summer night
Riding the Red Line
Outbound to Alewife
So is everyone else
Standing in the packed car
Staring blankly at the
Reflections in the window
Stealing looks every so often
At the pretty mid-20-something
Sitting on the seat near me
Noticing that she is
Glancing sideways
At the paper the person
Next to her is reading
Well not so much reading
Since he’s got his eyes
Looking to the side at
Someone else behind me
Everyone is pretending
To look somewhere neutral
Everyone is experiencing
Ulterior motives checking out
Everyone else around them
Trying to be all sneaky about it
With each stop
The people change
The dynamics change
Keeps the subway car
Fresh and interesting
Just as long as she doesn’t leave
I’ll be happy standing here
Packed among strangers
With wandering eyes
And stealing glances
Alongside them
On this hot, hot night.

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John Keats(1795-1821)

Ever let the Fancy roam,
Pleasure never is at home:
At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth,
Like to bubbles when rain pelteth;
Then let winged Fancy wander
Through the thought still spread beyond her:
Open wide the mind’s cage-door,
She’ll dart forth, and cloudward soar.
O sweet Fancy! let her loose;
Summer’s joys are spoilt by use,
And the enjoying of the Spring
Fades as does its blossoming;
Autumn’s red-lipp’d fruitage too,
Blushing through the mist and dew,
Cloys with tasting: What do then?
Sit thee by the ingle, when
The sear faggot blazes bright,
Spirit of a winter’s night;
When the soundless earth is muffled,
And the caked snow is shuffled
From the ploughboy’s heavy shoon;
When the Night doth meet the Noon
In a dark conspiracy
To banish Even from her sky.
Sit thee there, and send abroad,
With a mind self-overaw’d,
Fancy, high-commission’d:–send her!
She has vassals to attend her:
She will bring, in spite of frost,
Beauties that the earth hath lost;
She will bring thee, all together,
All delights of summer weather;
All the buds and bells of May,
From dewy sward or thorny spray;
All the heaped Autumn’s wealth,
With a still, mysterious stealth:
She will mix these pleasures up
Like three fit wines in a cup,
And thou shalt quaff it:–thou shalt hear
Distant harvest-carols clear;
Rustle of the reaped corn;
Sweet birds antheming the morn:
And, in the same moment, hark!
‘Tis the early April lark,
Or the rooks, with busy caw,
Foraging for sticks and straw.
Thou shalt, at one glance, behold
The daisy and the marigold;
White-plum’d lillies, and the first
Hedge-grown primrose that hath burst;
Shaded hyacinth, alway
Sapphire queen of the mid-May;
And every leaf, and every flower
Pearled with the self-same shower.
Thou shalt see the field-mouse peep
Meagre from its celled sleep;
And the snake all winter-thin
Cast on sunny bank its skin;
Freckled nest-eggs thou shalt see
Hatching in the hawthorn-tree,
When the hen-bird’s wing doth rest
Quiet on her mossy nest;
Then the hurry and alarm
When the bee-hive casts its swarm;
Acorns ripe down-pattering,
While the autumn breezes sing.

Oh, sweet Fancy! let her loose;
Every thing is spoilt by use:
Where’s the cheek that doth not fade,
Too much gaz’d at? Where’s the maid
Whose lip mature is ever new?
Where’s the eye, however blue,
Doth not weary? Where’s the face
One would meet in every place?
Where’s the voice, however soft,
One would hear so very oft?
At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth
Like to bubbles when rain pelteth.
Let, then, winged Fancy find
Thee a mistress to thy mind:
Dulcet-ey’d as Ceres’ daughter,
Ere the God of Torment taught her
How to frown and how to chide;
With a waist and with a side
White as Hebe’s, when her zone
Slipt its golden clasp, and down
Fell her kirtle to her feet,
While she held the goblet sweet
And Jove grew languid.–Break the mesh
Of the Fancy’s silken leash;
Quickly break her prison-string
And such joys as these she’ll bring.–
Let the winged Fancy roam,
Pleasure never is at home.

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